Green & Red & Starfleet Blues
by Snorpenbass
Summary: Assorted short snippets, like mini-scenes from a fifth season that never was. Nothing that's meant seriously crossovers for humorous purposes only . Feel free to critique, but be gentle, it s my first...
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Of course I don't own any of this. If I did, it wouldn't be fanfic, now would it?

**Spoilers:** TATV (aka "Berman & Braga have an aneurysm while trying to explain away why even mainstream critics think the episode sucks"), Storm Front I & II and the post-series Enterprise novels.

**Note:** These are...not particularly serious in intent, nor coherent or in any kind of real or self-imposed continuity. Just a few private jokes I thought of while re-watching the final season. BTW, am I the only one who noticed Blalock's obvious distaste for everything about the episode while watching TATV/B&BHAAWTTEAWEMCTTES?

Also, spot all the crossovers. I'll give you a brownie for each one spotted.

* * *

Trip was dying. To an outside observer, the stoic Vulcan standing only a few feet away seemed entirely unperturbed by the prospect, but anyone more familiar with her species would notice the slight frown, the way her hand held onto the nearby biobed, the way she would fidget slightly every now and then.

It was just so..._stupid_. A last-ditch attempt at diverting some raiders who had boarded the ship, all in defense of a single Andorian child. And now he was dying.

Phlox turned around, and dropped the tray of temporary pain relief he'd prepared for his terminal patient. An alien female had somehow entered the med-bay, apparently through the rear wall, and her garish purple-magenta clothing was extremely impractically revealing. She ignored him, turning instead to the other two occupants.

**"Charles Tucker III of Earth and T'Pol of Vulcan, you have proven yourself capable of great Love..."**

* * *

"So...you and T'Pol? What's that like?"

"Aw, c'mon Malcolm, you know a gentleman don't kiss and tell!"

"Just curious, is all..."

The silence wasn't just awkward, it was crawling into the meeting-your-mother-in-law-after-breaking-her-finest-tea-set territory. Finally Trip had had enough. "Well, it's kind of...great, gotta admit. Though the tentacles were a bit of a surprise."

Malcolm stared at him, his mouth dropping open. "..._tentacles_?"

"Yeah. Around the...y'know. They don't like mentioning'em. Kinda unusual, but boy does she know how to use'em. Though I could do without the throat-singing and the little bells on my toes. Brings me right out of it."

"...you're putting me on, aren't you?"

Trip chuckled and glanced over at his friend. "Yep. Now quit bein' nosy and help me fix your damn torpedoes."

* * *

"What d'you mean you've never seen it? It's a classic!"

"Your definition of classic seems extremely inclusive, commander."

"'_Commander_'?"

"..._Trip_." Her voice was so adorable when she was embarrassed. He didn't push further, being happy she'd concede this far just for the sake of making him happy. But, back to the subject at hand...

"Anyway, it's an honest-to-God classic. One of the greatest. Man, I gotta remember to show it on our next movie night."

"I fail to see the inherent fascination in watching stiffly animated clay models move clumsily against poorly integrated matte backgrounds. The cinematography is clumsy, the lighting overly bright for a medieval setting, and the portrayal of early Islamic culture is extremely insensitive."

"Yeah...but on the upside, Caroline Munro kinda reminds me of you."

She paused. "...very well."

"Great!"

* * *

"So, you have any idea why they're shooting at us?"

"None whatsoever, commander. Though it _might_ just possibly be related to the way you ogled that dancer back in the tents."

"I did not! I was just wondering..."

"What?"

Trip glanced over at T'Pol, who suddenly seemed to gain a faint greenish tinge to her skin. "Oh...nothing."

"Well, you _were_ staring. It's a bloody miracle they didn't try to gut you right then and there."

"Lieutenant commander Reed has made a quite accurate observation. It was most unsubtle."

"Yeah, well, mostly I was figuring how much one of those outfits cost."

Malcolm glared at him, then finally realized the kind of exchange that was going on between the two senior officers huddling behind the wall with him. "Oh." Somehow, the insight merited further, more elaborate commentary. "_Oh_..."

"That's..._shut up_, Malcolm."

"I fail to see what is so amusing, lieutenant commander."

"No, not amusing..." He leaned closer to the commander and whispered softly, _"If you take pictures, I'd be happy to buy a few-"  
_

"She can hear you, Mal."

"Shutting up now, sir. And ma'am."

* * *

**Requisition Manifest 1124888-AJ  
**

**Authorized by:** Cmdr Charles Tucker III.

**Content of Requisition:** One (1) set of "Barry White's Greatest Hits". Two (2) candles (white). Two (2) silver candlesticks. One (1) 2x2 m table-cloth (cotton-silk blend, white). Two (2) dinner plates (porcelain, white). Two (2) dessert bowls (porcelain, white). Two (2) sets of cutlery (two (2) forks, two (2) knives, two (2) dessert spoons). Two (2) napkins (cotton-silk blend, white). Two (2) wine glasses (crystal, Kosta Boda).

**Notes:** Tell chef I want the vegetarian Pasta Bolognese, oh, and the garlic bread he does with non-dairy butter. For dessert two fruit salads, and a bowl of strawberries with non-dairy whipped cream.

_The apparent Acquisitions Officer stared at the padd for a long, long while. This was a weird one. Not only had he run into a captain with a frighteningly familiar face, no, apparently he was...somewhere he would never have dreamed of going, ever. He sighed. "Oh boy."_

* * *

_**"Make thee another self for love of me, That beauty still may live in thine or thee.**__**.."**  
_

"Great, but less phlegm. Klingons only spit when angry."

"I still say translating Shakespeare into Klingon is downright wrong."

"C'mon, commander, where's your sense of adventure?"

"I dunno, Hoshi. I just get this feeling generations from now we'll be hated by people having to listen to Klingons misquoting or misinterpreting the plots and context."

"Oh, _nonsense_. Sometimes you can be such a pessimist. Now, let's try some Hamlet..."

* * *

"So what're they up to?"

"Hmmm?" The man once known as 'Daniels' barely raised his eyes from the holographic representation of a single timeline. "Oh, those two. Let's see, he tried to kill her while under the influence of native pollen, she shot him, he's being treated while she's looking on from outside the decon chamber."

"Oh. _I_ thought you were looking at..."

"Oh, _gross_. It'd be like watching your parents having sex, for Sisko's sake!"

"Great-great-great-great grandparents in your case."

"Even worse. You do realize the only image that survived to present day was one of them both old and wrinkly? Not a mental image you want associated with-"

"Pon Farr."

'Daniels' shuddered. "Stop it. _Sisko_, you're crass."

"So why don't you take one with the viewer? Peek ahead, say, the 2170's? He'd dumped that ridiculous Vulcan-Romulan disguise by then, right? Get one of them as still young, healthy and hale. How many kids had they managed by then?"

"...I dunno. It just feels like being too intrusive whenever I decide to do it. You know?"

"Well, it's not my problem. I'm gonna get back to my own desk. Picard just managed to send the damn android back to the 19th century...again. See you at lunch, Tucker."

The man once known as 'Daniels' grunted a reply, paused the viewer at the face of his ancestor looking perfectly calm and unemotional. She was staring at something through the large observation window into the quarantine chamber, hands clasped behind her back. Hard to reconcile that expressionless visage with the contented smiling old woman on the 3-d picture that had a place on the shelf above his desk in his office. He took a deep breath, held it for half a second, then exhaled. Time to continue work.

He sped up the viewer until days, weeks, months were flying by. Just when he was about to pause for lunch himself, the viewer stopped, a small red icon blinking in familiar warning. He sighed, and called up what anomaly or disturbance had caused issue _this_ time. He stared at the screen. Jon Archer surrounded by aliens in Nazi uniforms. "Oh, hell."

Then he poked his old-style comm-badge, trying hard not to get a migraine. "Tucker to bridge? We have another bump in the road. 1940's North America, Earth, Archer, no Enterprise. _Yet_. Looks like he stumbled across the Na'Kuhl we've been looking for..."

* * *

Trip stared at the strange contraption that had suddenly appeared in the middle of engineering. Two meters tall, about a meter wide, about the same shade of blue as their uniforms (a little lighter, though), and 'Police' in big, friendly block letters written on the top. The door opened, and a blonde girl peered out through the crack. "He's looking at us! I thought you said the stealth field was fixed!" The accent reminded him of Malcolm, though it was less cultured, a bit more working class.

Another face could be glimpsed, a large-nosed, high-cheekboned fellow with close-cropped hair and wearing black leather. "Oh. Right. Don't mind us. Close the door, Rose, we missed the target."

"I told you that tea damaged something! Honestly, anyone who's ever owned a bloody computer knows you never put beverages on the consoles..." The door closed. Then opened again. The tall British person in leather grinned at Trip, waggling his eyebrows and glancing briefly at the Vulcan science officer.

"Good luck. You'll need it."Then he vanished back inside, and before anyone had time to respond, the warbling, raspy drone echoed throughout the entire deck, and the contraption vanished without a trace.

Trip walked over to where it had been and waved his hand through the air while T'Pol took readings, her face unreadable. He turned to stare at her. "What the hell just happened?"

Her mute, wide-eyed shrug was more informative than any long-winded scientific explanation.

* * *

"We insist."

The Tellarite embassy secretary smirked at them. "The ambassador is not seeing anyone today. Perhaps if you were one of the masseuses he has scheduled..." The leer was most unhelpful to her calm.

T'Pol resisted the urge to sigh or plant the palm of her face over her eyes. She'd never done that before, and was certainly not going to start now. However, Trip was standing only a few meters away and was getting increasingly irritated. She would have to deflect his attention so she could attempt a different approach before he took to letting his emotions speak for them both. Now, how should she...ah. An eminently logical diversion. She leaned closer to the secretary, frowned slightly, and affected an Austrian accent. _"I'll be back." _

The flabbergasted look on her mate's face was most satisfying. She guided him back towards the entrance, trying hard not to show her pleased acceptance of his stunned amusement. "Honey...that was _grand_. But we still gotta get inside."

She raised an eyebrow. "That is obvious. However, I suspect we will need a different method of gaining entry. I suggest 'doing as the Romans', as the saying goes."

"...what d'you have in mind?"

...

"Say _what_!"

"I _said_, and I'm not surprised your under-developed auditory organs were unable to receive my message seeing as your species is less evolved than a Terran porcine, that your ambassador has the honor of an Orion, the social graces of a Nausicaan and the intelligence of a Pakled. Also, he enjoys performing sexual favors for Andorian males. Both genders."

Trip grinned. "What she said. Oh, and your mom dresses ya funny."

**End, for now...**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes: **...and we're back. Thanks for all the positive reviews on the first one! Ironically, I noticed a few minor editing errors later, but I'll fix that in good time. This next little mini-snippets-chapter is slightly more in-universe, and not quite as humor-aimed, but it's still short pieces and stems, scenes and conversations from the imagined Season 5 in my head. In my personal Trek, TATV is only canon in the way depicted in "The Good That Men Do", meaning it's a skewed, incorrect and whitewashed bunch of holodeck malarkey due to most of the real events having been kept classified by over-zealous Section 31 heads for two centuries. In other words, it's lies, damn lies and statistics.

In my own private Enterprise, "The Good That Men Do" and the novels after it are compressed in time-span and plot into the 4th season finale and Season 5 opening two-parter "Kobayashi Maru" (which I'll get around to doing something with some day...), in which Trip gets a pointy-eared _temporary_ make-over and sent into Romulan space to sabotage the warp drive tests performed by the top scientist there. Complete with action, techno-babble, arguments galore when the old ball-and-chain realize he faked his death and didn't even tell her, and a happy ending. Though the surgeons at Adigeon Prime didn't quite restore him back to factory specs once he was done wearing the ears (hey, genetic re-sequencing is expensive!)...

**Spoilers:** Yes please. Oh, right, as with most of these snippets there will occasionally be mild spoilers from every season, some from the post-finale novels (only the bits I liked, naturally), the sixth episode of Lost (no, not really) and Ezekiel 5:16 (again, no, not really).

**Extra Special Note:** The title of this series of snippets is very simple to decipher. Green and Red stands for the color of the circulatory medium of the two leads, and Starfleet blues is Trip's taste in music as well as T'Pol's favorite clothing on Trip (why else would she own so many blue silk outfits to match...).

* * *

White space was not white. The once featureless expanse of brightness and sensory deprivation was currently mauve with lilac highlights, and sported large, opulent furniture not far from where she was meditating. She frowned.

"Oh, don't be such a sourpuss, _ma chére commandant_. I just felt the place needed a little dollying up." The voice belonged to an unfamiliar male, wearing the blue uniform of a Starfleet admiral, his salt-and-pepper hair neatly coiffed and his expressive face caught in a smug smirk.

Her frown deepened. First Trip (who was welcome here, now that she was used to the concept), now _this one_.

However, _this one_ was completely unknown to her. Examining her memories revealed no previous familiarity with the man in question, and besides, his odd sense of being more real here than he should be and ability to alter her white space at whim suggested he was not entirely human.

The smug smirk became even more insufferable. "You're quite right, my dear. Well, _half_ right. I'm not even _slightly_ human. The comparison is about as insulting as suggesting Nausicaan parenthood to you."

"Who are you?"

"Ah, direct as usual. Did you know that's one of the reasons your Vulcan High Command didn't trust you? You actually spoke the truth as you saw it." He sprawled on one of the ridiculous couches, suddenly holding a small bunch of red grapes in one hand. "They _hated_ that. I found it refreshing, myself. You Vulcans can be so deathly dull, usually. All logic, no fun. Even Picard is...but I digress."

Then he sat up, suddenly serious. "You're going to leave Starfleet."

She nodded.

"You must absolutely _not_ do so. The consequences would be...dire."

Her frown was replaced by a slight raising of eyebrows. "I fail to see the relevance."

The man leaned forward. "Well, let me put it this way. Do you know the human term known as 'domino effect'?"

"Yes. The theory that a single event can set in motion a long chain of events. A highly simplified term used for political purposes at first, but is not far from early quantum theory. A more apt theory is the so-called 'butterfly effect', though it is lacking in nuance as well."

"Trust a Vulcan to get long-winded. Now picture this scenario: A hidebound, highly traditional species is faced with great societal change. At the focal point of these changes are a young revolutionary with a somewhat overblown view of ancient theories, a bunch of politicians who know to turn their coats according to the winds, and a different young individual who has been one of the chief instigators of said change from the background, who has a more balanced view.

"Now picture this last person suddenly deciding to leave behind the group that allowed her to be a key factor in instigating this change, going into self-imposed isolation instead of helping shape the society to come through leading by example. What sort of precedent does she set for future generations? What does this mean for the young revolutionary, who is, to be perfectly fair, slightly bigoted."

T'Pol felt herself make an exasperated, though subdued moue of distaste. "Its highly unproductive to picture such scenarios. Anything might alter the parameters."

The man shook his head. "More specific, then. While visiting her home, years from now, this person meets a young male of her species. This young male is prejudiced, as most of his kind are, and at first treats her with disdain for what he perceives as choosing another species over her own. But during their debates, he comes to realize his disdain and prejudice is highly illogical, and changes his opinions, especially when he learns that the elder has not only chosen to work with the other species, but also to take one as her mate.

"Approximately half a century later this young fellow meets a young woman of that _other_ species, they become..._intimate_, I think your term is, with one another, and their son becomes vital to the future of this entire galaxy. Without the influence of the aforementioned individual, he would never have even considered such a course of events, and their son would not have been born."

She stared at him. "Who _are_ you?" The hint of emotion that crept into her voice was...unsettling.

He smirked again. "We don't really have names. A letter of the human alphabet, perhaps. A concept? Or maybe a color? It doesn't matter."

"Are you a time traveler, like Daniels?"

"Daniels!" The man sneered. "A bumbling idiot _child_ motivated by hero-worship. No, I am nothing like him. He sees only the big, sweeping events, missing the trees for the forest. He and his feeble mortal friends see only the foundation of the Federation, _we_ see the _direction_ of the Federation. Without certain factors, they will end up worse tyrants than the Romulans. Without certain _incidents_, they will be weak and frail and feeble in the face of what will come."

As he spoke, the background changed, flickering from image to image. Unfamiliar men and women in equally unfamiliar uniforms, a sandy-haired smiling youth in a green tunic, a man in blue with a doctor's kit by his side, a Vulcan in the same colors, then the same people older, in red uniforms, shaking hands with Klingons, then an elderly, bald human in black and red, a black human in the same colors, a female human with voluminous red hair...

The images vanished. The nameless man shrugged. "It's fascinating how much depends on a few flawed, self-deluded humans, isn't it?"

She weighed her words carefully. "What would you...suggest?"

The man shrugged. "Perhaps nothing. Just know this. Quitting Starfleet permanently will alter things for the worse. There are other options. It's not a certain fact that the transfer orders will come through...and your reasons for wanting to resign may not be as rock-solid or based in fact as you might believe."

Pondering this seemed logical. So she did, ignoring the man who fidgeted, moved about, occasionally created things at random simply to annoy her, it seemed. Suddenly, he looked up, as if hearing something. "Oh. You're about to have company. I'll take my leave. You won't remember me, or our conversation. Live long and perspire." The man looked inordinately pleased at his feeble attempt at humor, then vanished, alongside all the furnishings he had brought, in a single flash of bright light.

...

She blinked. She had the feeling something monumental had just happened, but could not remember what. She took a deep breath, focused on empty, white space, and again attempted meditation. And suddenly someone she knew yet had never seen before wandered into her white space. A Vulcan? No, he was _smiling_ - and there was something familiar about that smile...

* * *

He stared at the monitor, or rather, at the glowing text he'd just finished dictating. _'Dear mom and dad. Sorry I haven't written in a while, but'_

_No. Doesn't feel right_. He erased it, then started over, speaking aloud again. "Dear mom and dad. I know I haven't written to you for some time, but-"

He paused. _Too formal. _"Erase entry. Start over." A helpful bleep allowed him his blank slate.

Only it wasn't blank, was it? How do you tell people all the things you want to say in a single letter? Especially something like this? He pursed his lips, then grabbed the touch-screen and typed the words in manually. _'Dear mom and dad. I was kind of wondering if you guys had kept grandma's old wedding ring...' _

_

* * *

_

"Another Warbird on our bow. Sir, plating is down to ten percent, shields are almost down, and the Devlin MacGregor just broke up in the atmosphere. It's just us now."

"...we're not abandoning them, Malcolm." The captain stared at the screen where garishly painted green battle cruisers were laying waste to the Tellarite colony on the planet below. It didn't make sense. A strike force this big for a peaceful trading colony? And if they didn't stop them, millions of Tellarites would die in the slaughter to follow. He frowned. One against ten. They'd taken down four, so far, but it was only a matter of time now.

"Sir? Your orders, sir?"

He sighed. "Arm forward phase cannons."

"Targeting systems are down, sir."

"I know. Travis, set a course for the big one. Full impulse. Malcolm...prime all weapons, and take life-support off-line for a last shield boost. Engineering?"

Lieutenant commander Hess' voice came through, the usual cheerfulness replaced by calm, cool professionalism. _"Engineering here."_

"Prepare to set the warp core containment field on timed shutdown."

Stunned silence filled the bridge.

"You heard me."

"...yes, sir."

Jonathan Archer sighed, rubbing three days of stubble with one hand, then looked around the bridge. "It's been a pleasure working with you all." Then he flipped the switch that set the comms for all hail. "This is the captain speaking. All hands to lifepods. I repeat, all hands to lifepods. No exceptions."

Lieutenant Hoshi Sato swallowed hard. Funny how she didn't feel like crying. Just calm. Then she frowned, staring at her screens. "Sir...I have multiple ships coming out of warp, starboard bow. Two...five...fifteen." Her face went from pale, drawn certainty of death to shocked smile. "Sir? They're _ours_. The _Constellation_, _Taurus_ and _Falcon_, six Delta-class frigates, two Buran-class, the _Surak_, two Tellarite destroyers and an Andorian battlecruiser..."

The comms crackled to life, and a familiar drawl echoed on the bridge. "Man, I can't leave you guys alone for a _second_. Give'em a broadside, Sawyer. Show'em what for."

He couldn't help himself. Jonathan Archer started to laugh.

* * *

"Tucker? I thought you were dead!"

"Yeah, I get that a lot."

"He got better." The statement was followed by a mere raised eyebrow as Trip firmly held back laughter. _No humor, huh?_

"Yeah. Turns out I was just pinin' for the fjords." Both eyebrows raised at his addition, and he felt silent amusement through the bond even though she didn't move a muscle in her face. He smiled softly. Damn, she was getting good at this again. _Thank God._

_

* * *

_

Laughter filled the mess hall. "And then, get this, he says, 'Damn, they never _exploded_ on me before. Think I did something wrong?'" Another smattering of laughter. Trip leaned back. Okay, so the joke was on his expense. He could take that. Not like he was unable to smile at his own mistakes. Though why Hoshi would remember _that_ one after all this time was...kind of worrying.

"So, _captain_ Tucker. How's your new boat?"

"Ship, Hoshi. Ship. Boats are in water."

"Whatever. So this Buran-class, what's it like?"

Trip scratched his chin idly. "Small. Cramped. Everyone knows everyone, though that's not hard when there's only twenty people on board. Faster than a greased monkey in a banana farm. When I'm done, we'll be cruisin' at warp 7, make no mistakes."

Reed smiled, then displayed a faux expression of mild disgust. "Her armaments are barely above that of a shuttlepod. Not to mention the armor."

"Yeah, but I got newfangled shields plugged straight into a warp core more powerful than on the NX, we don't _need_ armor. Everything just slides off like water off a duck. And I never liked the guns anyway."

"Don't like guns? Why ever not?"

"Well, ain't nobody gonna catch us anyhow. You believe me, when I work all the kinks out on the _Heronas_, we'll be zipping around the galaxy like nobody's business."

"Warp 7 may not be attainable co..._Trip_. You have barely managed to reach Warp 6, and that was during extremely favorable circumstances." He grinned at her._ You love puncturing my inflated cranium, don't you?_

_That would require an emotional motivation. I am merely pointing out the need for caution._

_Sure y'are._ "That may be, darling, but me and mine are gonna give y'all a demonstration in eating our dust tomorrow."

_You managed to find the cause for the warp field fluctuations?_

_Sure thing, sweetheart._

He put down his cup, stretched languidly, then cricked his neck loudly, causing Hoshi to wrinkle her nose in disgust. "Well, I'm gonna turn in. Been a long day. See y'all tomorrow. Or not, as the case will probably be." _I'm not really that tired, though._

There was a pause as he stood up and everyone gave him 'see you later's. Then a gentle sensation of amusement tickled at the back of his head, along with some...baser emotions. _Neither am I. I may need to inspect the Heronas, and examine your calculations._

_Go right ahead, darling..._

* * *

The bridge of the USS _Heronas_ was nowhere near as roomy as that of the Enterprise, or any other starship, to be honest. About three by ten meters, like an elongated shuttlepod cockpit, with four chairs, helm, science, comms and tactical (which was mostly nanny duty for the shields). And a fifth, at the rear, overlooking the rest. The captain's chair.

When he first saw his new chair back in space-dock, he'd laughed his head off, causing nervous looks from Sawyer. He'd had to explain the story behind himself and captain's chairs, unfortunately the serious young man found the tale more of a horror story than a funny one. Sawyer was weird that way. Most _Vulcans_ joked around more than he did.

He wasn't too fond of the lighting, though. It made the bridge feel even more cramped and claustrophobic than being inside a worker bee, though he supposed when you had limited space you needed more attention on the consoles than on an NX. At least they'd followed his advice about replacing the forward viewports with a view screen. Viewports were nice in movies, but on a starship you _really_ didn't want the risk of having a weaker area built into the hull right next to your command crew. Besides, the second deck had an observation dome that served much the same purpose, and served as their tiny mess hall as well.

Though the face on the screen was not making him too happy right now. "...so we're going to have to send a fast ship to pick the ambassador up and take him to his destination. And the fastest thing we have in the area is...your ship, captain Tucker."

It was _commodore_ Hernandez now. She'd gotten a field promotion after the Battle of Coridan and the rank had stuck, which had to be rankling to a lot of people (Jon had been walking around proud as a rooster for days after he heard though, according to Malcolm). Trip had nothing against her, really, it was the _news_ that made him frown. "You're sure? We're only days away from warp 6.5, and you...never mind, you wouldn't have asked if'n it weren't important. Fine. So where's he going that's so important?"

Hernandez hesitated in a way that made his hackles rise. A faint querying sensation made him send reassurance back, he was suspicious, but not in any danger. _Yet_. The two-way link was useful even at these distances, but it had to be distracting for T'Pol at times...like now.

"It's a small monarchy near Romulan space, strategically important due to their location, yet so far strong enough to stand against any challengers. The new regent has made overtures towards the Coalition, under the table, and...well, it's safe to say they feel better allying with us than letting the Romulans steamroller them into oblivion. They...uh, they have heard great things about you, and suggested you be the commanding officer during the talks. We'll be sending the _Constellation_, too, and _Enterprise_ if they can finish their own mission in time, but for the first few days it'll be just the _Heronas_."

She was hiding something. "Who?"

She fidgeted slightly, frowning, and glanced at something off-camera before responding. "Krios Prime."

"Aw, hell."_ T'Pol is gonna kill me._

_

* * *

_

**Closing note:** Ending on a bit of a cliffhanger, there. And being an evil person, I may leave that particular one open...for now. Mwah hah hah haaa...


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** Thanks, everyone, for your kind words. This marks the last of my short snippets, but fear not, I have a couple of bigger things cooking in the oven. Stay tuned for my Enterprise finale fix and the sequel, Star Trek: Heronas.

* * *

…

"...so we're gonna figure something out with the whole naming pattern thing. Since we started we've already run out of names for the NX-class, and the number of pre-WW3 carriers, destroyers and battleships we could use for baby names are way less in number than the amount of Daedalus, Neptune and Intrepids we've got coming out the yards."

Lieutenant Ferris nodded. "So what have you decided?"

"Nothing as yet. We're thinking making the names division over what purpose the ships are for."

"Like?"

"Like, name the science vessels after famous scientists, ships meant for combat duty after old naval vessels and famous battles, and the new engineering corps ships after famous builders and engineers."

Ferris nodded again, then frowned, looking up. "Engineering corps? That's a new one."

"Well..." Yamada had the grace to look a bit embarrassed. "Nothing official, yet. You know the red tape, it'll probably be _centuries_ before it's official. But they're starting to form up special crews for some of the new Starfleet ships, mainly meant to tamper with any tech we find or invent, as well as reverse-engineer any stuff found that regular crews can't handle. We're sort of calling them the corps of engineers."

"Huh. Makes sense. Any specific ships meant for this...corps?" Ferris nibbled the garlic bread and refrained from wincing. Too much butter.

"Well, there's a new class coming out now, the first one is gonna have its maiden voyage in weeks if all goes aright. Hot rods. Big engines, little crew, not much weaponry. Basically just couriers and patrols, meant to stay in Coalition space. They'll be good for fighting pirates, but not so good in the war effort. And we'll _need_ civilian Starfleet ships once the war is over. To show that we're not really a military?"

"...if you say so. So, got a name for the first one yet?"

"Nope. They're giving the honor of naming her to whoever gets to be the first captain."

"What's the name of the class?"

"Buran. After the old Russian space shuttle..."

…

* * *

…

Derek Billings had been a farmer for going on twenty-five years now, man and boy. Twenty-five years. His dad brought him into it back on Earth, and when the family moved to Scrimshaw, a small colony near Vulcan space, he'd moved with them. All that really changed was _what_ you grew. On Earth it had been sweet corn, here on Scrimshaw it was (mostly) something called _gerik_, a rutabaga-like plant that tasted sort of like cinnamon if you boiled it and curry if you fried it. Both if deep-fried. Tasted like nothing, raw, but still filled your stomach. Apparently, it was common with a people called 'Trill', who'd tagged along the Vulcans decades back and set up shop on Earth, mostly selling new agricultural exports and medical technology. Looked human except for spots on the neck and cheeks.

Scrimshaw had a single orbital outpost, a sort of customs station that could be manned by a single man (though usually at least five people were up there), and everyone living in the colony took turns manning it. Today it was Derek, and four others he didn't know all that well.

"What's that?"

"What's what?" Li, a good-looking Chinese girl whose parents had a hydroponics farm growing Earth veggies near the small spaceport, leaned over.

"That." He pointed at the screen. "Looks like an entire section of space just lost its stars."

"Oh, that. Sensor glitch?"

"...no, the stars are back. Hang on..." He brought up the image from ten minutes ago, overlaid on the new one. "...this can't be right. They're _upside down._"

Now the others were getting interested as well. "How is that even possible?"

"I dunno. But...wait...I think it's _moving_..."

The disruptor cannon blast vaporized the orbital station, five people dying in a single burst of green death.

The rest of the colony wasn't so lucky.

…

* * *

…

"Hey, did you hear the news?"

"What news?"

"Tucker."

"...the old chief? What about him?"

"He's not dead."

"...you're kidding me."

"Nope."

"He's not?"

"Nuh-uh."

"...how'd _that_ work?"

"No clue. He's back, though."

"...they firing Hess?"

"Nah, he's on one of the ships that bailed us out. Got promoted, too."

"..."

"Yeah."

"...let me get this straight. Your former chief engineer who got vaped by presumably Romulan boarders during the battle of Coridan is _not_ dead, got promoted, and saved our collective bacons?"

"...well, him and about twelve or so other ships, but yeah, basically."

"Man, you couldn't make this stuff up! Nobody's gonna _believe_ stuff like this when reading the history books."

"Tell me about it. I remember telling my buddies on Earth about the Expanse, and they thought I was lying to make myself look good. Had to show them the scars to get them to believe half of it."

"Even the-"

"No. _Not_ going there, man."

"Sorry."

…

* * *

…

**NCC-042 USS Heronas **

**Commanding Officer:** Captain Charles Anthony Tucker III

**Personnel File 6654-33, Lieutenant Millicent Edwina Sawyer**

**Service Record:** Graduated Starfleet Academy 2148, assigned to San Francisco Starfleet Command Maintenance & Requisition. Reprimanded January 12th 2149, conduct unbecoming. Reprimanded January 23d, conduct unbecoming. Reprimanded February 2d, conduct unbecoming. Reprimanded March 12th, conduct unbecoming. Transferred April 20th to McMurdo Monitor Station, Antarctica. Promoted lieutenant junior grade August 6th, 2154. Transferred USS Heronas May 1st, 2156. Promoted full lieutenant, May 1st 2156.

**Psychological Evaluation:** Authority issues, mild alcoholism, frivolous attitude to safety precautions and routines, possible pyromaniac tendencies, oft stated dislike of chain of command.

**Notes:** Sent the [REDACTED] to the _Heronas_. Let Tucker deal with her. Good riddance.

_Signed, Adm. Phillip Gardner_

…

**NCC-042 USS Heronas **

**Commanding Officer:** Captain Charles Anthony Tucker III

**Personnel File 6701-17, Lieutenant Commander David Wong**

**Service Record:** Graduated Starfleet Academy 2150, assigned to Intrepid-class _Illinois_. Promoted lieutenant junior grade October 2151. Transferred Sarajevo-class _Marduk_ July 30th, 2153. Promoted full lieutenant January 1st 2154. Transferred Sarajevo-class _Kennebunkport_ November 2d, 2154. Promoted lieutenant commander December 26th 2155. Transferred USS Heronas May 1st, 2156.

**Psychological Evaluation:** Efficient, rule-abiding, honest, driven. Minor parental issues, but nothing urgent. Career officer, real go-getter. Bears further watching on command track.

**Notes:** Somebody has to keep an eye on Tucker. Wong seems willing and able.

_Signed, Adm. Phillip Gardner_

…

**NCC-042 USS Heronas **

**Commanding Officer:** Captain Charles Anthony Tucker III

**Personnel File 6654-33, Lieutenant Friedrich Horst Nessler**

**Service Record:** Graduated Starfleet Academy 2151, assigned to Security, Yosemite 3 research station. Promoted Lieutenant junior grade June 17th, 2153. Transferred Earth embassy, Vulcan January 1st 2154. Promoted full lieutenant July 1st 2155. Transferred USS Heronas May 1st 2151.

**Psychological Evaluation:** Solid psyche, minor agoraphobic.

**Notes:** Studied under Sato in 2150. polyglot and multilingual.

_Signed, Adm. Phillip Gardner_

…

**NCC-042 USS Heronas **

**Commanding Officer:** Captain Charles Anthony Tucker III

**Personnel File 6651-33, Commander T'Pol**

**Service Record:** See attached Vulcan High Command file T-33-5.

**Psychological Evaluation:** See above-mentioned file.

**Notes:** Can't have Gardner cherry-pick his crew, can we? Besides, I owe him one.

_Signed, Com. Erika Hernandez_

…

* * *

…

"Okay, okay, okay. How about this one. How many MACOs does it take to screw in a lightbulb?"

Wong glared at the woman in the seat next to him. How on Earth did she pass physical? She had to be _at least_ an inch above maximum height. Realizing she was going to keep staring expectantly at him until he replied, he sighed, and complied. "I don't know, lieutenant, how many?"

She grinned, then yelled in his ear, "SIR, A MACO WILL SCREW IN AS MANY LIGHTBULBS AS NECESSARY, SIR!"

There were scattered chuckles in the small, cramped cabin, until Wong gave them the Cold Stare. _God_, she was annoying. "May I _remind_ you, _lieutenant_, that you're a _junior officer_, and that yelling in a _superior_ officer's _ear_-"

"Keep your panties on, lieutenant commander. She's just trying to break the ice. Though keep the voice down, Sawyer, I think they heard you on Qo'noS." Captain Tucker was smirking as he said it, though, poking his head back among the junior officers to pick up a padd from his duffel. _No discipline. Figures._

"Yes, sir." Lieutenant Sawyer blushed, leaning back, though stealing occasional glances at their CO. Wong held back a sneer. It was obvious she had a thing for their stalwart, laid back captain. Charles Tucker III, multiple medals, multiple achievements, hero engineer of the Enterprise. Reported dead over a year ago, back from the dead in a highly publicized rescue a couple months back.

_Dead. Yeah, right._

He swallowed hard and tried not to think of anything in particular. As he often did, he went through his first impressions of his future fellow crew members. Let's see...Sawyer was Armoury, Tactical and Security. Cheerful to the point of cloying, never shut up. Surprisingly good scores on all tests, he'd heard. She was also in charge of the ten MACO they had been assigned. As if the ship wasn't cramped enough as it was. Good-looking, though. What was the word..._photogenic_.

Then there was Nessler. Comms, ship's linguist, total enigma. German. No accent. Handsome enough, but about as talkative as a brick wall. No real impression there, yet.

There was no XO, yet. Apparently they were going to pick that one up from the Enterprise, out in the former Expanse somewhere. With the NX-class it was a five-week trip at Warp five. It would take the Heronas a little under six days. _Progress_.

He hadn't met his junior officers yet, as such, though at least four of them shared the shuttlepod passenger compartment. Once everyone had been brought on board the shuttlepod would be stripped down and refurbished, to be used for standard duties. With luck, he'd be put in charge of that.

Next to him, Sawyer's grin widened. "Hey, lieutenant commander, knock knock."

He sighed. "Who's there?"

"Impatient cow."

"Wha-"

"Moo!"

This...was going to be a _long_ trip. All twenty minutes of it.

…

* * *

…

"Oh, good lord. They _said_ it was bad, I just didn't _realize_..."

Captain Charles 'Trip' Tucker (the Third) stared in horror at the captain's cabin. Okay, this was _ridiculous_. The ship could barely house the forty-man crew in the ship because storage was at a premium, and his own cabin was...

"Christ, the _cap'n_ had a smaller room than this."

_Wait,_ **_I'm_**_ the cap'n now, aren't I? Right._

"Tucker to Maintenance."

"_Maintenance here."_

"Yeah, I'm seeing a _definite_ design flaw right here, Gibbs...mind sending a couple workers up here to take measurements? We're gonna have to cut my cabin down to size a few meters..."

…

* * *

…

**The end...for now.**


End file.
